


The Irreplaceable Raven Reyes Job

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Leverage Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven gets left behind to heal while her team is pulling a con. She's bored and annoyed, and a little bit afraid that they'll realize they get along just fine without her, until her situation escalates and she has to save the day. In the process, she makes a friend and remembers that she's awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Irreplaceable Raven Reyes Job

Raven has never been so bored in her whole life.

It’s bad enough she’s stuck on the couch for who knows how long until her physical therapy kicks in–- no pun intended–- and her leg starts acting like more than dead weight. It’s bad enough she alternates between annoyingly persistent pain and an even more obnoxious drug-induced haze. What really kills is knowing that her team is out on a con somewhere in Asia, getting up close and personal with some legitimately cool tech. Without her. The tech genius.

Well, okay, Monty is a tech genius too, but not in the same way. His specialties lie in ones and zeroes, in the creativity and cunning it takes to trick the world into accepting as real something born in his imagination. Raven is the one who builds her own rigs to scale buildings, who can crack a safe, who is able to subvert any security measures ever dreamed up. She’s not cocky. She just knows that she’s among the best at what she does.

That knowledge only makes it rankle more that Bellamy benched her for this mission. More than the thrill of jumping off a roof, the rush of dodging laser tripwires, or the satisfaction of outsmarting security guards, she craves feeling needed. Feeling valuable. 

It’s part of why she never went back to her solo career.

Yet they’re off running a con without her. Bellamy isn’t even letting her consult, refusing to give her details and enlisting Monty to make sure the rest of the team keeps her just as in the dark.

“The more rest you get, the sooner you’ll be back on your feet,” he’d insisted, the damn mother hen. 

When she’d caught the stray bullet on their last job, he’d been completely unable to maintain his gruff, emotionally distanced persona, barging into the hospital room with her and hovering until she herself kicked him out.

She’d thought she could at least count on Octavia to have her back. O usually rose to any and every occasion to keep her brother’s overbearing impulses in check. Raven expected her to talk Bellamy down, or to at the very least slip Raven some information off Monty’s radar, but the hitter had sided with her brother for once.

“I’ve taken more than my fair share of bullets,” Octavia had told Raven in a low voice. She didn’t want Bellamy to overhear. 

Hell, Raven was surprised she was talking about those days at all. 

When Octavia had first gotten into this business she’d had a falling out with her brother over it and had taken herself off his radar. It had been just as well for Bellamy that he lost track of her for a few years, because that was Before.

Before the crew. Before he decided to pick up where the law leaves off. Before he turned his white hat black.

Bellamy told Raven once, when he was drunk and morose, that he’d been glad when Octavia returned. He had his sister back, even if she wasn’t the same sister who left him. Even if she was harder, more haunted. Calmer and more controlled, yet more fearsome for it.

But still every bit as stubborn as Raven.

“Bellamy’s right. You need the rest.”

“If you’ve been shot before, you know my  _ mind _ is fine,” Raven wheedled. “I can still walk you guys through my part remotely-–”

“No,” Octavia said, resolute. “What I know is that if you don’t heal right, it’ll only cause you more problems. We need you at your best, Reyes. Stay home and try to enjoy your time off.”

Monty had been sympathetic, but ultimately trusted Bellamy and Octavia’s judgment more than Raven’s when it came to this. 

Clarke, in one of her past lives, picked up a hefty amount of medical knowledge and adamantly refused to let Raven go anywhere until she’s given the all clear by a doctor. But Raven knew better than to try to play Clarke against Bellamy anyway. They don’t argue in front of the team anymore, but try to keep their disagreements private in order to present a united front. 

Miller hadn’t even engaged in conversation with her.

“Don’t start with me,” he’d said when he came by to drop off his collection of black and white movies, a stack of logic puzzle books, and a chess set she’s pretty sure he sweet-talked and swindled out of the hands of the Prime Minister of India.

Raven had shot him a dirty gesture and her most creative swear words, but Miller is pretty much impervious. He’d snorted and kissed her on the top of the head on his way out, which was nice but patronizing enough to piss her off. It wasn’t until later she realized that was probably his intent all along.

Miller isn’t an official part of the team. He and Monty used to be partners, pulling jobs together with some getaways so clean the target never knew they’d been had. 

They’re pretty private about their personal lives, but Raven’s trained to see things other people might miss, and she’s pieced together enough to know that when it became too much to juggle both a working and romantic relationship, the duo had pulled one last job, invested the revenue in buying some island Monty won’t give anyone the coordinates to, and tied the knot. 

Now Miller works the bar of the pub he and Monty purchased as part of their cover in San Fran. Whenever the team is between jobs, or if Bellamy gives Monty the green light to work remotely, they retreat to their island and emerge more in love than ever. In times like this, when one of them is benched, Miller steps in. The relief pitcher, Octavia calls him. 

Raven isn’t worried about Miller’s skills or his ability to work with the team. She knows he’ll get the job done. Hell, he kept the team from falling apart when Clarke abruptly disappeared a few years back. He kept Bellamy from drinking himself into a stupor and kept Octavia from going off the rails, which is more than Raven could have managed on her own.

It’s just that Raven wishes he was the one stuck behind in the pub, while she was off with her team.

Yet here she sits, in the back room of the pub where there are giant televisions she’s got no interest in watching, with the pub’s shift manager, whom Monty is paying extra to come check in on her and make sure she feeds herself. 

“How’s the patient today?”

“Speak of the devil,” Raven mutters.

Wells smiles at her-– annoyingly cheery at all times, as she grows increasingly grouchy-– and makes a show of looking around at the empty room.

“Were you talking to yourself?”

“Can you blame me? I’m bored out of my mind.”

“I keep telling you that you can come take up some real estate at the bar before happy hour starts.”

Raven rolls her eyes. 

It would probably be a great improvement over simmering alone in her boredom, but she likes Wells a little too much for someone who can’t know what she does. For someone who will fail to understand a significant part of who she is. For someone who-– if they became friends-– she’d have to lie to and then walk out on when the team needs to pick up again. So she’ll stay on the couch for now.

“Even the voices in my head are better company than you, Jaha.”

Instead of being offended, Wells’s smile widens. 

That’s the other reason she doesn’t want to hang out with him: she doesn’t know how to handle him. She’s used to intense personalities, tornadoes that draw people in and leave no stone unturned. Even Monty has that kind of effect on the world, the stones he turns looking more natural and right in their place than they had before he’d swept through. 

But Wells is more like a rock: solid and immovable. Again, though he’s never said as much, she’s picked up enough to know he’s not pristine, untouched by the world. Yet he seems like he’s burrowed so deep he can’t be shaken. The tornadoes of the world come at him, and he’s able to brace himself against them until they’ve blown past. He’s so  _ certain _ , like he’s someone who can be relied upon. 

That’s probably why Miller left him in charge of the pub and of Raven while they’re gone.

But Raven is adaptable, fluid. She doesn’t know how to deal with a certainty like Wells. So she shies away.

“Well what have you guys been saying about me?”

“We were wondering if you know how to play chess.”

“Oh?” His eyes catch on the set Miller left and he whistles softly. “That is a nice set. Nicer than my dad’s, even. It looks like real ivory.”

“You know Monty,” Raven scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s like an internet wizard. He can find anything on Craigslist, including really nice knockoffs.”

“He needs to teach me his ways.” He runs a reverent hand over the board, unfolding it and beginning to set the pieces in some kind of order. “You want to be white or black?”

“Is there a strategic advantage or do you just pick the color you like best?”

His eyes lift to hers in surprise.

“You don’t know how to play?”

Raven crosses her arms and purses her lips.

“I’m a fast learner. I’ll be kicking your ass in no time.”

“I’m sure. Let’s start with the basics.” It takes work for Raven not to get lulled into dropping her defenses at his easy likability and unpitying tone, but she manages in the end.

By the time he’s finished explaining and they’ve started a game, she’s relaxed into his presence and even enjoying herself. It’s a mistake, she’s sure, but she can’t quite help herself.

“Okay, so… I can move my pawn like this?”

“That’s a typical opening gambit.” He checks his watch and makes a face. “I gotta get back to the pub. The lunch rush will start in about half an hour or so.”

“I make one move and it’s got you running?” It’s probably for the best that he’s leaving if she’s this comfortable teasing him.

“I’m quaking in my Jordans,” he deadpans, and makes another move before standing to leave. “I’ll be in with your lunch in a little bit. You can try some online chess until then, if you want to start playing catch up. I gotta warn you, though-– it might take some time to get on my level.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Monty doesn’t have a desktop and hasn’t left any laptops lying around within her reach, so she does the next best thing and pulls up a window on the big-screen TV he uses to brief the team for each job. She’s rooting through his applications, looking to see if he’s got solitaire or chess or any other games, when she finds an icon that looks like a windowpane. It’s vaguely reminiscent of one on her phone that she uses to access a variety of games, so she clicks on it.

Only, it’s not games that pop up.

Instead, it’s the pub’s security feeds.

She frowns and is about to go back to the applications menu when Clarke’s picture flashes suddenly on the screen and a loud ringing noise makes Raven nearly re-injure her leg, she jumps so hard.

She clicks ‘accept call’ and is already glaring when live video of Clarke appears on the screen.

“Checking in on me already?”

“Nah, I have Wells texting me updates,” she says, her frown equalling Raven’s. She’s every bit as crotchety as Raven is, which is part of why they get along so well. 

“Of course you do,” Raven snorts. “Then how come you’re calling?”

“Because Monty got us better wifi than the plane has and I want to make everybody jealous.”

“You’re gonna start a damn riot.” Bellamy’s disgruntled voice comes from offscreen. Clarke smirks and tilts the camera so he’s in the frame.

“Seriously,” she says, ignoring Bellamy. “I called because I know you’re bored and I’m bored already and we’re only-– what? Six hours into a fourteen hour flight?” She shudders. “And I’m stuck next to Bellamy, who is the most boring seat buddy of all time-–”

“You’ve spent half the time so far drooling on me in your sleep,” he interjects. Raven tries not to groan in frustration. She’s not a fan of the pretending they’d rather be seated anywhere else than beside each other. She’s been watching this show for years; it’s getting old.

“Then tell better stories,” Clarke says, a glint in her eye. Raven clears her throat.

“Do you guys need me here for this flirting? Or can I go hurl now?”

“Are you feeling sick?” Clarke asks, her face transforming into one of concern.

“I’m feeling bored. And useless. And did I mention bored?”

“Didn’t Miller leave you some stuff to do?” Bellamy cuts in.

“Yeah, I’m getting Wells to teach me how to play chess but he actually has a job that you guys will let him do, so he can’t be here entertaining me all day.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it?” 

Raven gives him the finger.

“Wells taught me to play chess when we were kids,” Clarke says fondly, causing Bellamy and Raven both to gape at her. “What? You know we knew each other, right?”

“You keep details about your early life close to the vest, Princess.”

“Yeah but Wells is, like, a normal person.” Raven points out. “How come he never said anything?”

“Probably thought you knew,” Clarke shrugs.

“Does this mean he knows your real name?” Bellamy asks, in a low voice. A private voice. Raven clears her throat.

“I’m totally going to pump him for information about little Clarke.”

“Go for it,” she says, smug. “He doesn’t know the important stuff, so all he’ll be able to give you is elementary school embarrassment.” She pauses. “And maybe some family drama. But you guys know that already anyway.”

Bellamy’s gaze softens and Raven can’t exactly fault him. They all learned a thing or two about Clarke’s family situation when a job a few years back centered upon a client with the same cancer her dad had, and the same insurance company that screwed him over. 

It’s the reason she’d needed the time away; she’d put on so many faces and names, she didn’t know who she was anymore. Thinking of her dad had reminded her of that. 

When she came back, it took some time for her and Bellamy to find their footing again, but their friendship-– if that’s what Raven wants to call it–- is stronger than ever, and when he turns that sappy face on her she doesn’t shrink back into her shell anymore. It’s good, Raven thinks. It’s a little like healing.

“Does he have access to baby photos?” Raven asks, breaking the serious moment.

“One way to find out,” says Clarke, waving and looking at something past Raven’s head. She turns to see Wells carrying a tray into the room.

“It’s giant Clarke,” he says mildly, setting the food down in front of Raven. “I’ve definitely had this nightmare before. And-– Bellamy? Are they on vacation together?”

“They can hear you,” says Raven, amused.

“We got a groupon,” Clarke adds. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be caught dead kicking back with him.”

“Sure,” Wells snorts, hands on hips as he takes in Monty’s setup. “It’s kind of surreal, talking to you like this.”

“It takes a while to get used to,” Clarke grins.

“I mean, I always knew you had a big head, but-–”

“Alright, alright,” she laughs. “We’ll go now so Raven can eat, but we’ll try to call again when we get to the hotel? Or whenever we can.”

“Have fun,” says Wells.

“Use protection,” Raven adds, smirking when Bellamy rolls his eyes, and hanging up before they can get another word in. “I didn’t know you and Clarke knew each other.”

“No? I work here, she works here…”

“I meant-– She said you guys were childhood friends.” Wells tenses briefly, then relaxes into it.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, we were in the same class until third grade. But we didn’t reconnect until she reached out to let me know about this job.”

“And you just always wanted to manage a restaurant and bar?”

“I like to work with people,” he says absently, his eyes drifting to the screen again. “Is that the pub?”

Raven glances over to find the security footage still up on the screen. She’d meant to close out of it when Clarke called.

“Sure is.”

“Creepy.” He’s smiling though, so Raven thinks he’s joking. “But I guess people-watching is more fun than playing games against some computer.”

“Don’t knock computers.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” When he averts his eyes from her face to the screen, it feels deliberate. “Oh, see that guy in the corner? With the goggles clipped on his bag? He meets girls from Tinder here. I see him a couple times a week.”

“He strikes out that often?”

“Tinder,” he shrugs. “But this girl-– a couple tables over, with the dark hair? She’s a friend of his. She comes in a lot when he’s meeting girls, partially to check them out and make sure he’s not getting catfished or anything, and partially because she’s pining after him.”

Raven gives him a dubious side-eye.

“You pick up that much just from watching?”

“It gets slow sometimes,” he shrugs. “And I told you, I like people.”

“Who else do you know?”

He gives the screens a searching look.

“Over there by the window? Those two guys come in every day at the same time and order the same thing at the same table. I guess they like routine.”

“Is that all you know about them? I thought you were trying to impress me.”

“Always.” He flashes her a smile and her stupid heart stumbles. “I don’t know, they’re pretty quiet. Sometimes they look like they’re working, but usually it’s just them sitting and checking out the view.”

Something about his description, about their posture, about the whole thing, itches under Raven’s skin.

“How do they pay?”

“Cash. Why?”

She shakes her head. It’s probably nothing. She’s just looking for some excitement, seeing things that aren’t there.

“If they paid with cards I would expect you to know their names, but I guess that’s a no-go too.”

“I’m not an amateur.” His smile softens and she’s the one who looks away this time. “Lucky for you, I’m better at chess than I am at reconnaissance.”

“That’s lucky for me?”

“For sure. You always want to learn from the master, right?”

“Get ready to become a student again.” She moves a piece almost at random, just for something to do, and he follows it with one of his own almost immediately. 

“Big talk.” She’s keeping her eyes studiously on the board but she can  _ hear _ him grinning. “Bring it on.”

 

* * *

 

The thing is, the itch doesn’t go away. 

She doesn’t want to chalk it up to hyper-vigilance borne of many years of thievery, and paranoia borne of idleness until she’s sure that’s what it is, so she pulls up the security cams the next morning as she eats all of Octavia’s pop tarts. She watches the two guys come in and beeline for their table, too tense to be just grabbing coffee. They’re discussing something serious.

And really, it could be anything. Finances, death in the family, the newest season of _Game of Thrones_. Raven knows it’s probably nothing.

But the itch is still there, so she decides to do something about it.

“Raven?”

“Hey Monty. What time is it there?”

“Night. Can this wait? We’re kind of in the middle of something-–”

“Then why did you answer?”

“Because you’re temporarily crippled and it could be an emergency.”

“The faster you answer my question, the faster I’ll go away. Promise.”

“I don’t want you to go away,” he sighs. “I just want you to have better timing. Nate is climbing the outside of a building, Clarke is lying for all she’s worth to save our asses, and Octavia is missing.”

Raven pauses. Her thing can wait.

“Missing?”

“Radio silence. But only for an hour or so. She’s supposed to be in a danger zone, so I’m not worrying yet. I’m also not supposed to be telling you any of this, but I’m stuck in the hotel room with no ability to help anyone, and I’m freaking out so I’m rambling.”

“Breathe,” Raven commands. “Octavia is the most dangerous thing in that building. She’ll be fine.”

“You don’t even know what building she’s in.”

“Yet I still know that’s true. And we both know we can trust Clarke to think on her feet and save the con.”

“She’s a chameleon,” Monty agrees. “Still, I'll feel so much better when it's you climbing a facade like a spider instead of my husband."

Raven feels her stomach sink. She'd rather be the one in the harness too, but the way Monty says it so dismissively, as if it's a fact taken for granted that she'll be back in action soon, worries her. What if her leg doesn't heal quickly? Or doesn't heal as good as it was before? What does a thief do when she can't be fast anymore? Will she be worth anything to her team then?

"Now what can I do for you?” Monty asks, and she pushes her worries aside.

“Do you have audio security installed in the pub?”

“No. Why would I need it?”

“No reason. What’s the easiest way for me to eavesdrop on a couple of people I think might be casing the place?”

Monty pauses.

“Do I need to call someone in?”

Raven considers this; it’s an interesting question.

“Who would you call?”

Most of the people they know in the business aren’t exactly friends. Nobody outright disagrees with the moral code Bellamy and Clarke insist upon following when choosing clients-- jobs protecting the little guy who has been screwed by a big guy is Bellamy’s bread and butter, and Clarke jumped on board quickly (though she’ll still do what needs to be done to protect her crew)-- but everyone else in the business gives the team a wide berth, professionally and personally. Nobody trusts them not to screw over anyone who isn’t following the same code.

“Sinclair?” Monty says after a moment of thought, naming Raven’s mentor, the man who trained her to be the best thief in the world.

“Nice try, but he’s in Maine with his wife and kids. I don’t need help, Monty. I don’t even know if they’re really trying to rob us or not. I’ll do some surveillance, find out for sure, and-–”

“Handle it yourself? Nice try. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but I’m going to follow up on this in a little bit. And I have to tell Bellamy.”

“Fine,” Raven snaps. “Audio?”

In the end, she gets Wells to swap the sugar container on their table with an identical container that has a microphone on the inside of the lid.

“Is this illegal?” He asks, when she first breaches the subject.

“No, it’s security. Monty signed off.”

He wets his lips, studying her face like he studies the chess board. Like he’s trying to read her mind, like he’s trying to figure out where she’ll move so he knows how to parry.

“I need to know why,” he decides.

“Wells.”

“I need to know, Raven. I’ve been involved before with people who don’t have any regard for right and wrong, and I can’t-– I don’t know why I can’t just trust that you and Monty aren’t breaking any laws, but my gut tells me that something is off. I have to trust my gut.”

“And I have to trust mine.” His brow furrows and she pushes herself off the couch, hobbling over to him on her good leg. “I’m worried those two guys you pointed out to me yesterday might be casing the pub.”

He frowns.

“So call the police.”

“I don’t have proof. Just an instinct.”

The way he studies her, she can’t help but wonder what he sees. What is she, to someone who doesn’t know about her talent with a lockpick? Whatever he finds in her face, he must trust her because he swipes the sugar container from her hands.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

He leaves without a backward glance, without a good-natured smile, and it makes her feel a little hollow.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t it like two in the morning there?”

Clarke sighs, dramatic like only a grifter can pull off. Wherever she is, it’s dark enough that Raven can only barely make out the features of her face, but she looks upset about something.

“I told Monty I’d stay up with him to learn this backstory as he’s fabricating it.”

“Did he not have all that set up before you even got on the plane?”

“It’s not my backstory,” Clarke says, still sounding wrong. “It’s Bellamy’s.”

“I didn’t know he was-–”

“He wasn’t.” She’s outright annoyed now, and Raven’s beginning to understand what happened. 

Monty had said Clarke was working hard to cover for them; Bellamy must have decided her plan wasn’t good enough or that she needed backup and stepped in with a last-minute change that left everyone scrambling. It’s happened before.

Ninety percent of the time, Clarke and Bellamy are a well-oiled machine, anticipating each other’s moves before anyone else even sees them and making sure they’re doing their part to back the play. But sometimes, every so often, Bellamy wants so badly to be there to help Clarke that he ends up hijacking her plan by accident. There’s a reason the mastermind usually stays behind the scenes: if he gets too close, he can’t see the big picture.

“There was a change of plans, and now he’s–- Well, he’s laying a honey trap.”

Raven’s eyebrows shoot up. No wonder Clarke is so put out. Not only did Bellamy mess with her plan, but now Clarke also has to watch him flirt with another person for the duration of the job.

“Is the mark hot?”

“Is that relevant?”

“Just trying to understand how irate you are.”

“I’m up at two a.m. because Bellamy called an audible. Is that not irate enough for you? Is that what you want to know?”

“Whoa, chill,” Raven says mildly. “You called me, remember?”

“Oh, right. Monty told me something about audio surveillance. What’s going on?”

“They’re definitely shady,” says Raven. “But I don’t think they’re actually going to rob us. More likely they’re just using the pub as a vantage point for something higher-value nearby, because they kept mentioning the take and it was huge. More than we has on hand, for sure.”

“Do you need anything?”

“Got a spare leg?”

“That’s what Wells is for. Just-– make sure he’s safe, okay? I don’t want him in anything dangerous.”

“Me either,” Raven agrees. The thought of Wells in danger makes her skin crawl in an entirely different way than the thought of someone robbing her pub. Monty’s pub. The team’s pub. “Speaking of dangerous, I assume you found Octavia or else you would have led with that.”

“Did we lose Octavia?” Clarke asks, sounding startled.

“She had to drop off the grid earlier,” Raven says, struggling to keep her smile down. Clarke, Bellamy’s foil in many ways, is so good with details she sometimes misses the big picture. Like keeping track of the team members. It’s why she and Bellamy work well together, sexual tension excluded.

“Oh. Well, she’s fine. She’s sleeping. How is it that you know more about what’s going on here than I do? Aren’t we not supposed to tell you stuff?”

“Getting ahold of things I’m not supposed to is kind of my specialty,” Raven grins. “And let me clue you in on one more thing: Bellamy’s a complete sucker for you, and I guarantee that he’s not going to fall into his own honey trap. No matter how hot she is.”

“The mark is a man.”

“Point stands.”

Clarke is quiet for a moment.

“See, this is why I called you. I knew you’d know what to say.”

“Also, I’m awake right now.” Raven chews on her lip. “But it’s nice to know you guys are a wreck without me.”

“That’s the only reason we sidelined you, Reyes. It’s ‘cause we need you so damn bad. Now rest up and keep Wells out of trouble and  _ call us _ if you get anything concrete. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Be safe.”

“You too.”

Raven is staring at a map of the neighborhood when Wells arrives a few minutes later with her lunch, trying to figure out what it is the robbers might be after. She doesn’t have anything against thieving, obviously, but she overheard one of them mention guns and she doesn’t like violence. Especially with her leg lying useless propped up on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“If I tell you, are you going to freak out on me again?”

“Depends on what you say.” Raven cracks a smile, because he’s so honest. So trustworthy. So the opposite of everything she thinks she is, even when she’s at her best.

“I’m trying to figure out who they’d want to rob, if not us.”

Wells’s mouth twists to one side and he settles cautiously next to her, the tray balanced half on one of his knees and half on her good leg.

“What has you so convinced they’re robbing anybody?”

“Nothing except-–”

“Your gut. I get it. Okay, so who are they robbing?”

“There’s a bank down the street, but it’s local, so probably not big-time enough for something that requires this much planning. And there’s a jewelry store on Harbor, but that’s a little far for them to be posting up at the pub every day.”

“You know a lot about this stuff.” His voice is quiet, and she can’t help but remember his outburst yesterday, and despite the warnings she’s given herself she’s curious about him.

“Runs in the family.”

It doesn’t feel like a lie. Before Bellamy caught her up in his crusade, the closest thing she had to family was Sinclair. And now she has her team. So when she says it to Wells, it feels true.

“I get that.” She looks over at him in surprise. He’s already staring back at her.

“Do you?”

“Let’s just say my family didn’t come by their fortune honestly.”

Raven hesitates, but she’s never been known for holding back much.

“Let’s say more than that.”

He huffs, half in laughter she hopes, and gives her a rueful smile.

“I don’t know how much Clarke has told you about the way we grew up–”

“Assume I know next to nothing.”

“Thought as much. If her parents were obscenely wealthy, my dad’s bank account made theirs look like pocket change. Her parents were a surgeon and an engineer with lucky genealogy. My dad didn’t earn his money the same way. He acquired it… outside the confines of the law. He was into more than laundering and insider trading.” His voice grows quiet. “He got put away for some violent crimes too.” 

Raven thinks of her own bank account, of her multiple bank accounts, padded with financial assets that only nominally belong to her. She doesn’t want Wells’s opinion to matter so much to her. She doesn’t think it would be favorable if he knew all her secrets.

“Your dad is in jail?” She asks, softening her tone to match his.

“When I turned eighteen, I turned state’s witness against him. My hands aren’t nearly as dirty as his, but they’re still-– He was priming me to inherit his empire. I decided I didn’t want to live that way.”

“Shit,” Raven breathes, and the tension breaks. He lets a laugh loose.

“Basically.” They sit for a moment, Raven processing and Wells remembering. He turns to face her. “How’d you break away from the family business?”

Raven swallows, anxious, but when she meets his gaze her expression is even.

“Who said I did?”

It doesn’t shake him-– nothing seems to ever shake him-– but he feels further away than he had a minute ago. When the silence becomes unbearable, she speaks again.

“Do you think doing bad things is acceptable if you have a good reason?”

“I don’t even know where to begin with that," he says, exhaling slowly and running a hand over the back of his head. "I think it’s probably a case-by-case basis, but I also think good and bad are not the same as legal and illegal, and that there’s a lot more gray area than the law leaves room for. Does the end justify the means? Sometimes. Maybe.” His mouth twists to one side. “My dad wasn’t ever trying to do a good thing. He was just trying to get ahead.”

“I used to be that way.” Raven isn’t sure why it’s so important to her that he knows this, but she can’t keep the urgency from her voice. Can’t help trying to make sure she tells him this before he gives up on her and stops listening. “But I’m trying to do the right thing now.”

“That counts for a lot in my book,” he says, offering the smallest of smiles before sliding the tray fully onto her lap and standing, looking around the room like it’s too much to look directly at her. “I should probably get back to work.”

“The pub would fall apart without you.”

“Definitely not, but I don’t get paid if I don’t show up. I’ll be back in a few hours. Maybe I can help you tidy up a little. This place is a pit.”

“You’re a pit,” Raven grumbles. Wells finally cracks a smile.

“Good one.” He nods to the chess board. “Text me when you figure out your next move.”

 

* * *

 

Playing Wells remotely gives her an idea, so she calls Monty. Unfortunately, that’s not who answers.

“This better be good, Raven,” Bellamy grumbles under his breath, keeping the phone discreetly low. It’s an awkward angle. She’s never had any kind of desire to be able to see up Bellamy’s nose, and she feels validated for it now. “I’m about to go into a meeting.”

“Oh, a  _ meeting _ ?” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, causing him to scowl harder. Riling Bellamy up is one of her favorite things. “Aren’t you a little overdressed? You should show more skin.”

“You talked to Clarke,” he sighs.

“She’s pretty pissed. I think you can make it up to her, though. The usual: flowers, fancy restaurant, not sleeping with your mark.”

“I have no intentions of– I don’t have time for this. What do you want? Are you dying?”

“I’m fine.” She pauses, but decides ultimately that Bellamy can’t stop her from halfway around the globe. “I needed to ask Monty how to remote hack a phone.”

This gets his attention.

“Do we need to send Nate home to help you out? It’s obvious you’re not going to let this go.”

“No,” she says quickly. “You guys need him more than I do. Promise. In fact, I need the phone hack so I can get my own backup.”

“You’re voluntarily calling for assistance,” Bellamy says dubiously. It’s fair. Raven hasn’t been great at asking for or accepting help throughout this ordeal. It’s probably strange to him that she’d start now.

“That’s right. I’m trying new things. Is Monty around or not?”

“He’s in the middle of something right now, but I’ll tell him what you need and he can text you instructions later. Okay?”

“Fine. Go be somebody else. But keep it in your pants.”

“Not gonna be a problem.” His eyes flicker to something offscreen. Raven can’t see what–- or who–- he’s looking at, but by the way his eyes soften with longing and the corners of his mouth tighten with tension, she can guess who it is he’s seeing. Micro expressions give people away every time. Not that he and Clarke are very subtle. “I made the right call, right?”

“Probably not,” Raven says brightly, earning his best glare. “But you made the call you made and she’ll back your play because that’s what you guys do for each other.”

“But I should probably have flowers and a nice dinner reservation handy.”

“Honestly?” Something in her tone gets his attention and his eyes snap back to hers. “If you really want to make you both feel better, I think you should tell her how you feel about her. Don’t even bother denying it,” she says, when he inevitably opens his mouth to argue. “I know your tells. I don’t want to hear you lie to me. Just, you know, find her when you’re you again and she’s herself and tell her you want to have her babies. You guys will figure out the rest.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I thought it was gonna make things worse. You trust me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he teases, tossing her a smile that’s equal parts fondness and exasperation. It’s not the smile he gave her when she first met him– the one that invited her into his bed after that first job, before they’d added Clarke to the team. This smile is better than that. It’s a genuine moment in a life of lies. 

“Smart man,” she says, trying to smile back the same way. The real way. She almost doesn’t remember how. “Now get your head in the game, Blake. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I make no promises.”

She disconnects the call and texts Wells a picture of the chessboard, captioned  _ your move. _

He texts back a picture of the salt and pepper shakers, arranged like the pieces on the board in front of her, except one of his shakers has moved slightly.  _ You’re making this too easy on me, _ he’s written. When she looks up and catches a glimpse of her reflection on the inactive television screens, she’s surprised to find a smile spreading broadly across her face.

It’s the real kind, she can tell. 

 

* * *

 

Raven knows she’s only armed with a couple of fake Tinder profiles, some well-placed road stars to puncture the getaway van’s tires, and minimal information on what they’re actually after, but she's feeling pretty optimistic about her chances until she realizes just how  _ wrong _ the situation almost went.

For one thing, it turns out the robbers' mark hadn’t been the bank, or the jewelry store, or even the pub’s cash register. They’d gone for  _ Wells _ . Had followed him out into the alley when he’d made the trash run and pulled a gun on him. Raven was able to pick the lock while they were distracted with their busted tires, and ushered Wells into the back room just in time to watch the robbers-- or kidnappers-- enter through the back door of the pub and wave their guns enough to make her patrons panic.

Raven was intensely relieved that she’d arranged for backup, for once. Once she’d found out the day they intended to carry out their heist, she’d set Tinder guy up with a police officer. She considered it fail-safe. Another layer of security to protect her establishment. She’d been glad for it, even if it was a leap of faith that the cop would have her service weapon on her.

And it had worked, hadn’t it?  That was what Bellamy always said in the end, when his harebrained schemes miraculously worked themselves out. Raven knew she was a genius thief, an asset to her team, but the whole Robin Hood thing never felt quite like her crusade until she made this plan succeed all on her own.

She thinks it was a pretty great plan, if she does say so herself.

“That was a shitty plan,” says Wells.

Raven can’t get too upset at this because he has one of his  _ huge  _ arms wrapped around her waist. Seriously. She’s admired them from afar, but they’re even better up close. The police had to take one of her crutches into evidence, so she’s leaning on Wells more for support than anything else. Or at least that’s what she tells herself. She didn’t know he was quite this built, before.

“I know,” she grumbles. “I should have a spare set of crutches somewhere. Being down one is really going to cramp my style.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” he scoffs. She doesn’t answer. “Convenient that we had an armed cop on the premises.”

“It’s also a good thing the van was inoperable and that the back doors just happened to be unlocked,” Raven says with a straight face. Wells looks like he’s trying not to smile, which is-- it’s more than she hoped for, honestly. “My personal favorite part is how Pining Girl tackled Tinder Guy to the ground when the guns came out. She didn’t even think; she just wanted to make sure he was safe.”

“That was stupid of her,” Wells says seriously, half-lifting her so she can rest on one of the bar stools. To her delight, he stays close. “She could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I guess she thought he was worth it.” Raven inhales sharply when Wells’s hand finds her arm, like he’s afraid something bad will happen if he strays too far. It doesn’t feel like they’re talking about her patrons anymore. “Besides,” she says lightly, trying to bring some levity back to the conversation. “I’ve been waiting for him to realize what’s right in front of him for--”

“Two whole days?” Wells teases. Raven laughs.

“Patience is not one of my strong suits. It seemed so obvious, it was tragic. Maybe now he’ll realize she’s one of the good ones.”

Wells’s expression grows soft and serious, his thumb raising goosebumps where it’s rubbing circles on her skin, and Raven has to swallow back a lump in her throat when he speaks.

“He always knew she was one of the good ones.”

 

* * *

 

“Note to self: trans-pacific flights are the worst." Wells startles away from Raven when Clarke bursts in, fed-up and overdramatic. Raven grins. She's so happy to have her people home.

"I don't think it counts as a note to self if you give it to someone else," Raven points out. She keeps her seat in his lap, her arms looped around his neck, partially because she’s good and comfortable and partially because she doesn’t actually care what her team thinks of this development.

Clarke doesn’t seem surprised, collapsing next to them and sinking into the sofa with a groan of contentment, but Bellamy raises his eyebrows when he comes through the door.

“I guess it’s safe to say you found something to do.”

“I thought I raised you better than to objectify people,” Octavia scolds, setting her suitcase down and dropping to the floor to stretch.

“Yeah, Wells isn’t a thing,” says Raven. Wells snorts and presses a chaste kiss below her ear before shifting her to the side. She guesses it might be weird for him to get caught making out by his bosses. Even if it’s Clarke and Bellamy, who are, frankly, ridiculous. 

“Yeah, but you’re doing me,” he whispers in Raven’s ear, sending shivers down her spine. “So he kind of has a point.”

“I was mostly referencing the police tape outside, but thanks for the mental image,” Bellamy says loudly, collapsing next to Clarke with his head in her lap. Her hand drifts immediately to thread itself in his hair, and there’s a kind of ease in the motion that makes Raven think the tension is broken-- and not just the awkward, angry tension, either. The other tension, the one that's always been crackling between them. Raven hopes that means Bellamy took her advice.

“Yeah, what’s up with that, Reyes?” Nate asks, suitcase in one hand and Monty’s fingers linked with his other. 

“Do we even want to know what happened here?” Monty adds.

“I’m a badass,” Raven says smugly.

“We’re looking for something we didn’t already know.” Octavia seems to be standing on her head now, which looks both uncomfortable and in direct opposition to the laws of gravity Raven is such close friends with.

“We had a minor hostage situation and Wells almost got abducted but I saved the day and everyone’s fine.”

There’s a silence as everyone digests this.

“Reyes, if you get shot again--” Bellamy starts, and Wells stiffens.

“Again?”

She places a placating hand on his arm.

“I’m fine. I was barely in the vicinity of the guns.”

“That’s not true,” Wells grumbles.

“What did they want with Wells?” Clarke asks.

“He used to be in witness protection,” Raven says easily, and Wells stiffens further. “I looked you up,” she admits, an apology in tone. “There’s nothing on you for the past six or seven years, no digital footprint at all until recently. I’m guessing that’s when you left the program. But then further back, I found stuff about your dad.” To her team, she adds, “He was pretty shady, but his business partner, Alie, was even worse. She got out of her charges on a technicality, and I’m pretty sure she’s the one who sent people after Wells.”

She taps on Bellamy’s forehead so he’ll open his eyes and look at her, which he does with only minimal resentment.

“That makes him our client.”

She doesn’t ask it; she tells it. Because she understands now, what she didn’t quite get before: what it feels like when one of her people is the little guy that gets hurt. That every little guy who gets hurt is this person to someone. 

That this-- the willingness to put herself on the line, to do something dangerous-- is how her teammates feel about her, even if it’s not how they feel about Wells. They’ll do it for Raven because she’s family. Because they don’t just need her for her talents or her brains, but because she's one of them. Because they like her.

Octavia rights herself, standing with her arms crossed as she looks at her brother. Nate and Monty exchange a look, and Clarke’s hand stills in Bellamy’s hair as she waits for his answer.

“Yeah,” Bellamy grumbles, closing his eyes again and turning so his face is nuzzled into Clarke’s stomach. She bends to press her lips to his temple, a smile playing on her lips, and Raven is suddenly sure they’re gonna be okay. “He’s our client.”

She turns to beam at Wells, who is staring at her with amusement.

“I should’ve gotten you on my side a long time ago, huh?”

“Raven’s the actual best,” Clarke confirms. Raven sinks further into the couch, surrounded by her people. Her family. And Wells, who is still new, but-- she’s got a good feeling about him. And she always trusts her gut.

“Yeah,” she agrees easily. “I am the best. And don’t you forget it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://katchyalater.tumblr.com) now! Let's be friends.


End file.
